


Dark Shadows Put To Flight, Rejoice

by PastelWonder



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Childbirth, F/M, Pregnancy, The Last Great Sith universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 16:46:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17063375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelWonder/pseuds/PastelWonder
Summary: A oneshot celebrating the firstborn fruit of Kylo Ren's Darkness."Ren hadn't realized just how bizarre Jakkuvian slave-girls were until he married one.For one thing, his daughter was born in his closet."





	Dark Shadows Put To Flight, Rejoice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MythalGivesYouDreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MythalGivesYouDreams/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A Violent Heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14266785) by [PastelWonder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelWonder/pseuds/PastelWonder). 



> WARNING: If you're looking for a cutsie-wootsie, Star Wars meets TLC's "A Baby Story", done with restraint and good taste-
> 
> STOP. Please, exit the ride on your left.
> 
> For Mythal and for C, two of the coolest cats I know. If you have not read her gorgeous prose in Dark Lord Drabbles and Sith Sonnets, *please* treat yourself. https://archiveofourown.org/works/16499846/chapters/38644481
> 
> Love you, girl : )

Ren hadn’t realized just how bizarre Jakkuvian slave-girls were until he married one.

For one thing, his daughter was born in his closet.

 

 

For the entire week proceeding, his little beloved refused to leave their apartment. She would waddle around the rooms in just a pair of his socks, so long on her that she had to roll them at her knees, and one of his dark undershirts, its wide neck yawning down to her breasts, one thick black strap falling over her freckled shoulder, the hem hanging down past her thighs to kiss the tops of his rolled socks. She wore no underwear, complaining they were impossible to keep from slipping and the band rubbed her belly. Her breast bindings had been abandoned in her third month.

Truth to Darkness, he was suprised she still wore clothes.

Sometimes she likes to sit on the leather sectional in their living space, bundled up like a little Sherpa inside one of his cowls, and watch holograms of women cooking or an ancient protocol bot paint landscape scenes to the rhythm of its low, murmuring instructions. More often, she toddled very carefully through their rooms, hip-nudging furniture to change its angle or hiding objects she deemed on a whim were ugly or offensive. Her favorite pieces, a few he collected before their marriage, most he brought back for her from the worlds he ravaged, she arranged into bizarre vignettes on the tabletops and along their shelves.

“There’s so much of it,” she’d hum, examining each item carefully, palming its weight and noting its material before she placed it in its particular spot. Her face would flush with the pleasure of one who savors every morsel of her wealth. “So, so much.”

His chest would swell as he watched her, stretched out long on the sectional, or from the lip of their bathing pool if she was playing with her perfume bottles, or on their bed as she fussed over her collection of jeweled clutches in their crystal case. One little hand always cupped her hugely swollen belly, as the other coaxed and draped and plumped their nest into shape.

“That looks very nice, beloved,” he’d murmur, his dark eyes devouring the soft shapes of her body as she stepped back to present her handiwork.

“But will _she_ like it?” she’d counter, mouth pinched to one side, rubbing her belly as she puzzled and puzzled more.

A smirk would twist his scar. “Only one way to find out.”

In the afternoons, she liked to sit with him - or rather _on_ him - in his lap with her plump bottom wedged into the cleave of his thighs, always holding her baby through her belly with one hand as they fed each other bits of fruit and cake dipped in warm, milky honey.

“I hope she doesn’t look like you,” she worried, accepting a bit of sweet, dripping morsel from his fingertips as she studied his nose. “You’re not very handsomeable.”

That made him throw his head back and laugh.

“Of course we’ll love her,” she insisted around her mouthful, “even if she’s ugly.”

He smiled, all crooked teeth and adoring malice, as he assured her, “She will be beautiful. Like her mother.”

Corners of his eyes creased with amusement, he held very still as she took his face between her wet, sticky fingers and kissed him slowly. Her mouth was hot and syrupy-soft.

A test of his will power, to be sure.

Since the sixth month of her pregnancy, she did not like for him to make love to her. Her cervix was tender, the walls of her sex had thinned and were prone to rawness. Still, she loved to kiss and pet him, stroking his muscular arms and thighs. She would trail her fingers through the chiseled lines in his abdomen with bated wonder and peel back his lips to examine his large, sharp canines.

“Kylo,” she asked once, listening to his heartbeat through the thick wall of his chest. “Could you crush a Hutt with your bare hands?”

His fingers, each larger and longer than three of hers together, carded cherishingly through her hair. “Easily.”

He felt her smug smile against his heart.

She did love for him to lick her, in the evenings before bed and in the mornings when she woke. Long, lavishing laps at her belly and sex that painted her in slick and saliva. Pregnancy made her slower to orgasm, so he toiled away the hours with his head between her thighs, coaxing her pleasure as she raked and wrung his mane.

Afterwards, she called him with little pat-pats on her taut, round belly and soft, “Come here, Kylo”s to prop himself over her. He stroked himself to finish like that, letting her taste herself on his kisses as her fingertips played over his cockhead while he snarled and pumped. Then she’d smear his spend over her skin and revel in the warm, twisted sheets.

A desert custom, he assumed.

It was the most unguarded she’d been with him since their marriage. The circumstances of their courtship and the grief of their brief separation were lost in a thick haze of hormones and instinct and her desire to lie in his arms and kiss him until he felt drunk.

It was the closest thing to a honeymoon they’d had.

The first morning of her last week, when she barred the door and demanded he stay and never speak to or look at another female again, he was in ecstasy.

“No!” she snapped, wildly desperate, belly swaying and socked feet backsliding on the tile as she tried to dam him back with her hands on his chest. “Go to bed. _Now._ ”

“My darling,” he spoke patiently, lifting her into the crook of his arm, “I have to rule the Galaxy.”

She hugged his neck and buried her face in his cowl. “No Ky-lo... please stay? Please? I’m frightened, I don’t feel good, I need you, I’m too hot-”

When he returned to their bedroom and climbed beneath the covers with her, she rewarded him by peeling off his armor and covering his entire body with damp, lingering kisses until she fell asleep.

Like cream from a saucer, he slurped up her attention.

As the days unfurled into each other, she grew more mewling and restless, wanting to ride his finger to the first knuckle while her hot little tongue searched his mouth. She nibbled at soft breads and sweet jams and fresh fruit slices and took a bath almost every hour, her hands scooping cool water over the very top of her mounded belly peeking out above the surface. On the sixth day, she could not sleep, but swam in the bathing pool and paced the tile in an endless, trancelike loop.

He knew they were very close.

His Darkness sensed it too. It was deeply approving when, at his suggestion they move down to the prepared room in the infirmary, she bared her teeth and drew back into the furthest corner of the bath.

“Have my baby in a room full of robots?” she snarled over the sloshing waters, her arms wound protectively around her big belly, as if the droids were closing in on her now. “ _Never.”_

“Beloved,” he reached for her through the fragrant mist her hot skin made in the cooling water, “it’s safest in the bacta cradle-”

“Don’t touch me!”

The Darkness would not stop ravening and she would not come out until he offered, “I will have the monitors brought here.”

At last, she gave him her small, pruned hand. “Fine. But you can’t leave me. Not when- not when it happens. You have to stay.”

“Oh my darling,” he murmured gravely, his deep, lightless eyes meeting her anxious upturned stare as he enfolded her in a bath towel. “There was never a possibility.”

 

 

Now, with her contractions creasing her face in pain and still several minutes apart, he had never been more convicted of a promise.

“Beloved,” he followed her begging as she wrenched their bedding and drug it down the hallway behind her, “there’s a bed for you in the living room, only one droid, like you asked. Please come lie down-”

“No,” She stopped mid-stride and doubled over, holding her belly as her teeth clenched and her eyes squeezed shut.

He was down on his knees at her feet in a heartbeat.

“S’too big,” she huffed, winded with pain. When her eyes finally opened, they were scared and wet. “Need smaller. Darker. Less doors. Too many doors, someone could come-”

She was beginning to panic.

He gathered her in his arms, taking the blankets with her. “Shh, breathe. Deeper. Like I do-”

He showed her, _In…. Out…._

Her legs trembled. She copied the slow rise and fall of his breath.

The Darkness looped its long tail around them and closed its wings.

He swept the hair back from her eyes. “Where do you want to go, little scavenger?”

“Small,” she mewed back at him. Tear tracks stained her flushed, pretty cheeks. “Small. Safe. I need-” she looked and wrung the covers in her hands. “I need-”

An image flashed across his mind, of tiny sandmice dragging stolen bits of cloth and rag down into their dens.

_Of course._

“You need a nest.”

Her face went slack with relief. She nodded and sobbed. “ _Yes_. Yes. You know. You know-”

Pride, warm and rankling, bloomed black behind his ribs.

“I do know.” He stood, lifting her with him to cradle her in his arms. His heart leapt and roiled with fearful excitement. “I know exactly what you need.”

“Hurry,” she whimpered, tensing then contorting with another wash of pain.

“MD-6,” he barked back over his shoulder. The blankets followed him like the tail of a dragon as he started down the hall. “Bring the monitor. Now.”

 

 

 

“Kylo…”

Hours later, she was naked on a mound of covers and surcoats, on her knees inside his closet. The air was thick with the salty, earthy scent of warm fluids and her generous sweat. It soaked him and slicked her hair in long, stranded sections to her cheeks and to her neck. Mixed with her spit, trailing thinly from her open, panting lips, it rolled in glossy pearls down her breasts and belly and dripped into the nesting below.

She shook violently.

“Kylo…”

He was absolutely naked, sitting back on his haunches, his beloved crouched between the broad span of his knees. Her hands slipped over his skin, alternating between reaching up to hold the thick column of his neck while she rested, eyes closed and gasping for breath, then clamping on his muscular thighs as she bore down. He stroked her everywhere, soothing her, cherishing her with his cold, dark touch.

Terror wrung his heart, and behind it, a black hope that welled like a cresting dawn.

 _Soon,_ soothed the Dark.

“Shh-shh-shh.” He kissed her forehead between savage bouts of straining, noting how feverish she was despite her chattering teeth.

A normal occurrence, the med-bot assured him impassively. It monitored her progress from a small portable terminal propped in the doorway, suggesting optimal positions and relaying the timing of her contractions in the same moderate, metallic tone. “Reaching another peak, Your Majesty. Might I suggest now would be an excellent time to push.”

She ignored it entirely, her big golden eyes molten with fearful resolve as they stared prayerfully into his.

He held onto her, the solid, unwavering nucleus of her universe, despite the desperate twisting inside his gut.

“It’s coming,” he gave her time to change up her grip, holding strong and still as she braced herself. “You’re so close, Rey.”

Her face creased in agony. “It hurts-”

“Yes,” he nodded in solemn, sacred agreement, “Because you’ve almost won.”

She parroted his nod with her own pitiful bobble. Then her eyes screwed shut, she tensed and strained against him.

“Breathe,” he reminded her, loudly enough for her to hear him through the miasma of razoring anguish.

Her breath came in short, stuttering puffs against his chest.

She finished her contraction with a low, guttural groan.

“Well done, Your Highness,” the droid tapped at the screen and read its read-out. “Two more, and we should be there.”

He reached between her thighs and gingerly, tenderly stroked at her sex. His fingers came away coated in warm, rushing wet.

_Blood._

He bore down on his panic.

“Two more, Rey,” he cupped her face, careful to keep the blood off her cheeks and out of her hair. He waited for her to meet his eyes. “Two more, baby.”

She nodded, frantic and afraid and yet wholly confident. “I can do this… I can do this…”

“Yes you can.” Their foreheads touched, he looked down between them and saw her naked belly move and ripple with their daughter’s movements. “You are fire.”

She continued to nod as she bore back at her body. Her fingers dug into the flesh of his thigh. She strained and snarled.

“That’s it, Rey” he held her waist and watched the monitor intensely. A three-dimensional model of her womb showed their baby folded within her channel. Her efforts brought its little crown down to kiss her opening. “You’re so close, beloved. So close-”

She continued to push, dragging air past her clenched teeth and growling, as all the tendons in her neck stood rigid as she shrieked.

His awe overwhelmed him, choking his throat and his lungs and his heart.

_She is glory._

“It is coming, sir,” he heard the droid as if from a thousand lightyears away. All he could sense, all he could perceive, was his beautiful, furious little Light.

Her head fell back, slick strands of her hair slipping off her shoulders as tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. She shook, panting and snarling, her pink tongue showing, until at last her clenched teeth parted and she screamed.

Their baby slid softly into the universe.

She slotted into his waited palm in a fast rush of blood and fluid. Her body was dusky and soft, shriveled and small.

“She’s purple,” Rey whispered, her forehead now on his shoulder. The droid moved silently and efficiently behind her, guiding the afterbirth and applying sutures with swift, mechanical ease. She was completely unaware, trembling and weeping in short, breathless sobs as her fingertips juddered delicately along the tiny swollen belly of their baby girl. “I love her. I love her so much.”

His heart stopped fully and restarted, a second birth, as he gazed upon the face of his daughter. “She is perfection.”

 _She is Ours_ , purred the Dark.

 

 

 

Hours later, they lay as a family inside their silent, empty refresher, cocooned in the warm, healing waters of an open bacta cradle. The wounds between his beloved’s legs, though sutured, turned the gently churning waters the faintest pink.

He did not mind in the slightest.

He was drenched in love.

“Does she look like me a’tall?” Rey puzzled, peering into the tiny nursing face. Her fingertips swept delicately at the strands of black hair.

She did not in the least.

“Yes,” he cupped more water in the monstrous well of his hand and ladled it tenderly over his beloveds. “She’s your image.”

Rey frowned. Then her mouth gentled and curved. “She’s gorgeousable. The most amazing baby there ever was.”

The water lapped and rippled as he wound his arms around them. Over her shoulder, he watched her root with a lightless, wondering, love-filled stare.

“I agree.”

“And she’s ours,” she whispered. She coaxed one tiny fist up to her lips. “We’ll keep her forever. Always. We’ll never let her go.”

The glorious, glorious ache.

 “Never.”

 

 

“Hey, you.”

The smallest eyes in the galaxy watched as he lifted her from the breast of his sleeping beloved. They were still naked, the three of them, sleek from their bath in the cradle. He had swathed them in a lush of soft, fresh bedding and surrounded them in the cool, solid span of his embrace.

Now he held her fully in his single hand, the fruit of his Darkness, the heir to his empire, his most precious daughter. He would give her worlds upon worlds, he would slay her enemies and burn their bodies at her feet as a sweet incense to her glory. They would mount the universe as father and daughter.

“Sybari, daughter of Ren,” he called her, his voice thick and raw with silent weeping.

Her lips parted. She stared back into the face of her sire, so still inside his palm and yet somehow pulsing with the totality of life.

Behind his ribs, his heart twisted as he looked through the gloss of love into that dark, perfect gaze.

She flinched and blinked.

His tears, he realized, had fallen into her eyes.

He bent, baptizing her in his kisses as he traced the smooth, infinitesimal planes and valleys of her face with the tip of his nose.

His littlest beloved.

The next great Sith.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed yourself, please let me know. Your comments and kudos are always appreciated <3


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